


A Forest of Decay

by wormsoffthestring



Series: History Will Call Us Conquerors [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, look i promise i'm establishing a plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:48:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29256966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wormsoffthestring/pseuds/wormsoffthestring
Summary: Long, long ago, Dream had a family. He had friends, and a kingdom at his feet, and a power that most wouldn't believe truly existed.But nothing lasts forever.And it took a lot of time for Dream to become what he is today.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: History Will Call Us Conquerors [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148435
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. The Seed

**Author's Note:**

> “If there can be no victory, then I will fight forever.” -Koth of the Hammer, from Magic: The Gathering
> 
> the song for this fic is: Breath of Life, by Florence + the Machine

Dream was born to be a god, to be better than those that surrounded him. It was his purpose, his life’s work, and he knew it at age seventeen.

His mother, Captain Puffy, clutched his hand as they walked through the slums of his father’s kingdom. 

She was the one who told him of his purpose, talked him through it. His mother was good at following her own purpose. 

Puffy was a powerful nephilim, one of the sole reasons his father’s kingdom’s reaches had extended so far in the past years. She was untouchable on the battlefield, the stories claimed. As the pride and joy of the realm, she was in the favor of the king, whether she wanted that honor or not. 

So when she found him abandoned in an active war zone, she took him home. And when the king saw what he could do, Dream became an adoptive child of the royal family. 

The people of their kingdom loved him for it, even more than the crown prince, perhaps. 

With his halo of golden hair and shining green eyes, he was their kingdom’s very own angel. They reached out for him, grasping at his clothes and begging for a touch. 

His mother stopped him before a hovel, gesturing for him to enter. She squeezed his hand in a show of support, and he flashed her a blinding smile. 

The people inside the house parted for them, hurrying out of their way. Puffy stopped just inside the door, but Dream continued forwards. 

“Young man, have you come to see me again?” The old woman in tucked into the threadbare sheets asked. 

Dream sat at the edge of her bed, occupying the crowd’s attention. “Of course. I come every week to see you.”

The woman reached out a shaky hand that he was quick to grasp. As soon as they made contact, she breathed in deeply, rattling lungs seemingly soothed. 

“Thank you.” She croaked. 

He didn’t let go of her hand, and she didn’t try to remove it as he healed her. 

Life, that was his power. Pure, undiluted life. 

Dream was keeping this woman alive through it, per his father’s demand. 

“You’re welcome.” He told her. 

“You seem happy today.” She said, but it was more of a question.

He grinned. “Later today, I get to see my friends again.”

“I should have known that a spry thing like you would have playmates. Tell me, is that boy who loves fire still with you?”

Dream laughed at that, the rest of the crowd’s rumbling signalling they found the joke funny as well. His mother smiled, shaking her head. 

“Yes, he is.”

The woman shifted in her bed, trying to sit up. A man at her bedside shot up immediately, adjusting her pillows so she could be comfortable in her new position. 

The people surrounding her stepped gently, treading quietly. They treated the woman with reverence, because she was the last person in their formerly small kingdom with the power of the prophets. 

Dream gripped her hand gently, adjusting himself. He stopped fidgeting when his mother sent him a warning glance. 

“Have you been practicing with your father?” The woman asked, making polite conversation. 

He nodded his head, and took the opportunity to bounce his feet idly. He got more than a few dirty looks from the crowd for it, but none of them spoke up. “I have, every day, just like you told me too.”

“Good.” She offered him a smile that pulled at the lines wrinkling her face. “You’re going to change the world, young man. Your path is that of the gods. I’ve seen it myself.”

“But not as great as their Highnesses’.” Dream said, trying his best not to pout. His mother had always hammered that point home, made sure he understood it. He was the darling of the nation, but he would never exceed the limits the royal children put on him.

The old leaned forwards, and he thought he could hear her bones crack. He concentrated a bit harder on the lifeline he was providing for her. 

Dream opened his eyes, and saw her face closer than he thought she would be. “You will walk a different path than their Highnesses’, but you will be the stuff of legends. Generations will remember you, young man. Your memory will live on long, long after you die.” 

The silence from the crowd turned from respect to reverence. They watched him with wide eyes and baited breath. 

Puffy outstretched her arm, gesturing for him to come over. That meant their visit was over, faster than normal.

“Thank you for your time.” Dream said, as he had been instructed to, letting go of the woman’s hand. It fell, limp to the bed. She seemed ancient once again. 

He walked quickly over to his mother’s hand, grabbing it. Even all these years later, he still felt safer from the eyes when he was close to her. 

She tugged him out the door, followed by the eyes. 

Outside, the silence was replaced by whispers. Comments trailed them, murmured behind barely opened lips and impromptu barriers created by lifted hands. 

Dream slowed, even as the sun beat down on them. Puffy stopped to look back at him, but he had already closed his eyes. 

The crowd crept forwards slowly, as if equal parts enamored with him and scared of him. Puffy, in turn, moved back. 

She watched with careful eyes, making sure that he was safe.

Dream spread his arms wide, and tipped his head back to the sun. He was going to be remembered, for years and years. For eons. 

Then all at once, the masses surged forwards, hundreds of hands reaching for him, trying to get a glimpse of the power that prowled beneath his skin, what he gifted to those who needed it most, from door to door every fortnight. 

Dream gave it to them. His entire body lit up with the gentle glow. 

Years ago, his mother had told him it was the light of his soul shining through when he used the power. The idea made him smile even wider. 

When the thing inside of him blinked awake, yawning, Dream could feel the heartbeat of the city, the lifesblood of its people. 

It was the first time he felt like the god everyone claimed he was. 

He basked in the sunlight, in the feeling of the city’s people at his fingertips. It thrummed through him, like a song in his veins, calling out to something in his blood. 

Dream exhaled shakily, going unheard over the growing crowds chanted prayers and desperate pleas, grovelling at his feet in the streets. 

They were going to remember him.   
\-------------------------  
With the feeling of hands and eyes off of him, Puffy had let the carriage driver drop Dream just outside the castle, but within the guard’s walls with a less than gentle reminder that they had dinner with the royal family that night. 

It was on the outskirts of the royal property, one of the gardens that was left almost untouched by the official team of landscapers that roamed the mazes and fields. 

Truth be told, it was primarily Dream and George’s spot. They had spent countless hours sitting in the field, talking about the world around them. Sapnap preferred to meet them in the kitchens and stables, the training grounds and dogs’ playpen. 

Today, he was present, though. Karl was, too, even though he was known to be a hostage to most of the king’s court. 

The truth of Karl’s abilities were… untold. When the king had conquered Karl’s neighboring kingdom, he had killed the boy’s father and taken him as an “ambassador”. 

Though sometimes distant and prone to extended trips that took him away from the castle for just long enough for the king to begin to wonder if it was an escape attempt, Karl was a good time, and a welcome presence. 

Sapnap, Karl, and George sat in the middle of the field, waiting for him. “Took you long enough.” The former grumbled, tossing a handful of grass in his direction. 

Unperturbed by the not so warm welcome, Dream flopped down next to the other three. “The old lady was looking worse than usual. It’s not my fault that time exists.”

That got a short laugh out of George, who was lying on the ground to his left, looking up at the sun. He blocked the rays from his eyes with a hand, despite the glasses that sat on his forehead. 

Karl turned to look at him. “Aw, Dream, she’s just old.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes, turning over on his stomach. He idly littered grass across Karl’s calf, sprinkling the blades in a pattern. “Today was boring. I’m bored. Entertain me, Dream.”

“Aw, poor Sapnap, did they get tired of a child running around the forges?” George spoke up, rounded vowels honeyed with false sympathy. 

“You’re just jealous that they let me practice there because the guards at the training grounds have banned you.” He shot back.

Last year, George had gotten a bit too excited while sparring with the younger prince, and had left him a scar reaching from his collarbone to his hip that he wouldn’t soon forget. 

He flushed, but moved past the jab. “As if. They still let me in sometimes, just not when the royal family is there.” 

In a moment of great maturity, Sapnap chose to take the high road, by throwing a handful of unbloomed flower buds directly at George’s face. Dream wheezed. 

The other boy batted at them, glaring at Sapnap. “It’s bad enough that I have to come sit in this field of flowers that aren’t even in bloom without having to deal with you.” 

“I enjoy talking to you, Sapnap, even if these flowers are ugly unbloomed.” Karl added, peering down at the shapes the boy was tracing across his leg.

“Thank you, Karl! Eat shit, Georgie.” 

“Wait, wait.” Dream hopped up from his place on the ground, revealing the flowers he had smushed upon his entrance. “I can fix this.”

That got the boys to shut up and look at him, waiting for the fabled magic that everyone in the kingdom loved to gossip about. 

He closed his eyes, concentrating as hard as he could. The king had insisted he start learning how to use his power without touching the object of the magic. 

Dream could hear his own breaths, the steady in and out rhythm, and the solid heartbeats of his friends. The wind whistled through the giant tree that had stood here before the palace that shielded the edge of the guard’s tower far away. 

The glow finally began, starting at his fingertips and travelling up his forearms to reach his neck, flushing his face golden with it. 

Dream opened his eyes to see if it had worked. The boys looked awestruck. Sapnap ran a hand across the top of the blooming flowers. 

“Nemophila.” George breathed. “They’re beautiful.” 

Sapnap huffed out a laugh, standing to spin in circles. Around and around he went, under the hot afternoon sun, until he fell backwards into the bed of light blue flowers. 

While he tired himself out by repeating the process over and over again, George plucked one of the blooms, wandering over to where Dream stood, still looking over his creation. 

The entire field had unfurled, revealing thousands and thousands of beautiful flowers at his will.

“Dreamie, bend down for me?” He asked. 

Dream did as he asked. At age seventeen, he had outgrown the boy who was two years older than him. 

George tucked the flower behind Dream’s ear, brushing a golden curl back over the stem to hide it. 

Dream tried not to flush. 

“Gross!” Sapnap called, still slightly out of breath from his loops. “Do that somewhere else!” 

“You’re the one who came with today!” George shouted back, looking all too proud of himself for making Dream flustered. “Karl isn’t yelling at us!” 

“Yeah, ‘cause I thought it was going to be the homies chilling together!” Was Sapnap’s answering quip. 

“I’d never make fun of young love like that.” Karl answered, trying his best to remain serious.

Dream wheezed at that. “Would you like a flower for your hair, Sappitus Nappitus? You’d look so pretty with one.” He fawned. 

Sapnap rolled over to shoot him a glare. Whatever he was going to say was swallowed by George’s gloating. “I bet he’d prefer it if Karl gave it to him.” He crowed. 

“Shut UP!” Sapnap answered, lifting himself off of the crushed blooms to tackle George into the ground. 

They disappeared in a flail of limbs and laughter, rolling and screaming. They could often be found together sparring in the outer rolling fields, far from the actual grounds where the Weapons’ Master and his staff patrolled. 

Dream wasn’t allowed to follow them. 

The sparring didn’t spill over much into their play wrestling match though, and it was all over once George had delivered a firm kick to the underside of Sapnap’s jaw. He didn’t retaliate with the fire that followed him, understandably. 

For as much shit as he gave George for the accident with the prince, Sapnap had his own share of troubles containing the fire that followed in his path. 

The Weapons’ Master himself had a nice burn on his upper left shoulderblade to show for it. 

“Are you two children done?” Dream asked, just to rub it in. 

Sapnap responded by sticking his tongue out, but George spluttered offendedly. 

Karl grinned. “You guys need to listen to dad!”

“Be careful George, you might hurt dad’s feelings if you don’t shut your mouth!” Sapnap added immediately, eyes wide with mischief and expression filled with glee. 

Dream groaned, laying back down. “Nevermind, you can go back to fighting.”

“Oh, no, we wouldn’t want to upset our father!” George protested. 

Sapnap coughed out a laugh. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I miss Badboyhalo when you guys are like this.” Dream said, squinting towards the sun. It was especially bright, with no clouds in the sky. 

“He’ll be back sooner or later.” Sapnap soothed, joining him in laying down. 

George rolled his eyes as he sat down on the other side of Dream. “No, he won’t. His dad already sealed the trade deal. They’re heading back home now.” 

“You have us, though.” Karl pointed out, laying across Sapnap’s stomach. 

Just because he had already had a long day, and looking at the sun for so long had made him feel small, Dream spoke up again. “You guys aren’t going anywhere, right? I’d miss you.”

George pointed at his own ear, a reminder to Dream of the flower from before. “We’re right here.”   
\-------------------------  
When he stumbled into the intimate dining hall for only the extended royal family hours later, Dream wore his ceremonial ensemble and the flower George had given him. 

His mother waited for him at the door, expression closed off and posture impeccable. He rushed to her side, trying his best to absorb her warmth without hiding in her skirts. 

Puffy was dressed for war, even in her evening gown. The dress glittered underneath the chandeliers lighting the entry hall, her shoulders decorated with intricate metal pieces that look more akin to armor than a dress piece. She stood with her shoulders back, looking down her nose at the guards watching her like a hawk.

“You’re late.” She whispered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. He didn’t miss how her gaze skipped past the flower, only to hone back in on it moments later. 

He didn’t look up at her. “I was in the field with Karl, Sapnap and George. We started sparring.”

“You’re not allowed to be sparring with them.” She reminded him, grip tightening on his shoulder in warning as the king approached, doors opening grandly. 

“They were sparring. I was watching.” Dream corrected, stepping out of her hold to bow. Behind him, his mother curtsied. 

The king watched them both with disapproving eyes, waiting for something to nitpick. Even through the mask he always wore, his eyes shone through. The king refused to show his face in an attempt to strike fear in those around him.

Beside him, the queen stood, holding his arm with her own. She wore a crown even though the king did not. 

Dream knew why. 

It had nothing to do with the dinner and everything to do with his mother. Puffy was forbade from wearing a crown, but that hadn’t stopped her from draping the necklaces over her head, so the gems landed on her forehead like a circlet the priestesses wore. 

Behind their Majesties, the princes walked, and behind them, the princess. Drista, the only one he really had a bond with. As soon as she went by, Puffy and Dream fell into line at the back of their little caravan, where they always stood. 

When they took their seats at the table, the royal family was spaced out a considerable distance, sitting on one half of the table. 

Dream and Puffy were seated on the other end. 

“You have training tomorrow, Dream.” The king’s voice carried effortlessly over the table despite the distance. 

He watched the queen’s hands tense atop the table, twisting her napkin at the first mention of a name at the dinner table being his. Dream was the bane of her existence. He understood her hatred, and she was never outright mean to him, so they lived in relative peace. 

“I know.” Dream said, plucking his outermost spoon from the table as the servants placed the first course on the table, disappearing in a flurry. “I went into the village today, to see the woman again. She looked worse than usual.”

The king looked at him from under his brow, studying him for a moment. “You kept her alive, though?” He asked, and there was a hint of worry hidden within the words.

Dream nodded dutifully. “But it’s harder and harder to heal her incrementally.” He used one of the words his tutors had taught him, when he sat in on the session with the princes. He got twin dirty looks for it from each brother. 

“Then it’s good practice.” The king said with finality, looking to his eldest son to say something. 

Before he could get the words out, Dream continued. “Why can’t I just heal her completely? That would give her at least two more decades, and the people would be quite fond of us for keeping her around.” He tried to reason.

The king’s look was less studying this time and more angry. “Dream.” He set his fork down carefully. “Power. That’s what you are. You give it out like it means nothing, but it doesn’t. You are a symbol of this kingdom, and the people love you for it. But love doesn’t keep this nation running. No one will obey your orders or work for you if they know you are going to give them what they want regardless of their actions. You heal the prophet, and in exchange, she tells us everything she sees.”

It sounded like blasphemy to Dream, to go around the gods’ will like that, diluting their visions to rule a nation, but he knew better than to voice his concern. 

“Father,” The crown prince spoke up. His voice hadn’t fully matured yet, didn’t quite have the booming quality to it that the king’s did. “Scouting troops from the borders of the Antarctic Empire have not returned. There have been no messages back from our people, either.”

The king took a long sip of the wine a servant poured, before nodding at her. She scurried off, but not before leaving the bottle. “Nothing? We’ve heard nothing?”

The crown prince swallowed thickly, eyes darting between his father and Dream and Puffy’s side of the table. “Well, there was a note, returned with the gear of our army, but-”

“But what?” The king demanded, gesturing for the note. “Spit it out, boy. That could have vital information in it. Read it aloud.”

Somewhat reluctantly, he did as he was told. Dream leaned forwards, waiting to hear what he would say. 

The crown prince unfurled the parchment. The official wax seal was broken, but it appeared to be some type of bird swirling around a dragon in a never ending circle. It looked cool, unlike the lame crossed scythes that was their nation’s signet. 

“Dear invader, you are testing the boundaries of our patience. We will no longer tolerate your troops sniffing around our border. Tell your rebel king and his allies to wait until they are older than seventeen, and stop spreading rumors across our borders. If you want a war, then send an actual army and leader rather than a made-up one.” 

The king stopped eating, and rested his chin on his hands. “You see, Dream?” He brought the boy in. “They are monsters. They will take any chance they get to invite a war in, so they may conquer more territory.” 

Dream secretly felt as if this was another one of the king’s many surprise tests that he was prone to failing at, but nodded anyways. 

“I heard that the Blood God is surrounded by a ring of soldiers trained from birth,” Drista said conspiratorially, leaning towards him from across the table. She and Sapnap shared the glimmer of mischief that alit in their eyes when they spoke. “They don’t fight, they deem opponents worthy. They call them the blood alcoyotes.” 

“The next generation of murderers and criminals.” The king sniffed. “You will train harder, the next few weeks. No more meeting with those boys, they will need to receive their own training if they are to be your primary advisors.” The king instructed, turning to the princes once again. “You two will need to learn how to rule this kingdom during a war,”

The king continued, probably addressing Drista, but Dream’s thoughts wandered. 

Because his real purpose wasn’t to be a god. It was to kill one. It seemed that the day he would need to do so was fast approaching. 

Dream was born, bred, and raised to kill the Blood God. He was power, because he needed to eradicate power. 

The king had known that to establish an empire, he would first need to get rid of the existing grip the Antarctic Empire had on most of the known world. The king’s own bloodline, while powerful, wasn’t enough. Puffy’s nephilim blood was. 

The product of their necessary union was Dream, someone like the Blood God and entirely unlike everyone else. 

“Celestials, that’s what they’ve begun to call them. I suspect Dream will be drawn in soon as well.” The queen’s voice rang out, catching his attention. She rarely ever spoke at these meetings. 

Everyone at the table turned to look at her. “Celestials?” The younger prince asked.

“Well, they don’t die. They’ve lived for what? Three hundred years at this point? When Dream kills the Blood God, they’ll lump him in.” She all but spat. 

Puffy hummed, agreeing with the queen, and took a sip of her own drink. Dream had never understood their bond, something that decidedly wasn’t friendship but not outright hate either. 

They were tentative allies, used to dealing with the king’s demands and unruly temper. 

In the coming days, Dream would bear the brunt of it, though. 

He had to admit, Celestials was a clever name. 

“Why create an umbrella term, though?” The younger prince asked, toying with a pea in his soup. 

The king looked down at the boy. “Well, I’m not sure if your tutors have covered magic yet, but those who use it life short lives.”

“It eats away at their life force, we know. They’ve already covered it.” The crown prince said, trying to rush his father along.

“Well, it appears that these monsters are the exceptions.” The king finished. 

“And Dream.” Puffy cut in, popping a spoonful of soup in her mouth to punctuate the sentence. 

Yes. And him. 

Dream would certainly be lumped in with them in the history books.   
\-------------------------  
“Again.” The Weapons’ Master demanded, watching Dream spin around and around, slashing at the dummy as if it had personally wronged him. 

Across the chest, and a swipe across the fake, lifeless knees he fell, chasing the attack pattern that he had learned from one of the older trainers. Again and again, relying on muscle memory, he moved. 

Dream had seen the men who taught him these moves fight, looking akin to storms. Maybe he looked the same when he fought. He wasn’t sure. He was, however, sure that his form was impeccable.

He had studied the battleplans they set in front of him until his eyes felt like they might bleed upon the pages, stayed out into the early hours of the mornings repeating the same moves they demonstrated until they sank beneath his skin, working their way along the pathways of his muscles till they were as familiar as breathing.

Dream turned, tucked his sword inwards as to not cut himself, and kicked the dummy, sending it rattling backwards before falling to the dusty ground. 

Finally, the command came. “Stop.” The Weapons’ Master said, pausing his walk about the ring to stand in front of Dream. “You’re not watching your side. We don’t have any intel on the Blood God. We don’t know anything about him, not which side he favors, not what his weaknesses are, not who he loves, not who he is willing to sacrifice. You are going in blind, and you cannot act the fool.”

There was a bite to the words that Dream resented, but he kept his mouth shut, choosing to let that fire of resistance burn in his eyes instead of flowing off of his tongue. 

“Sir, are Sapnap and George available?” He ventured to ask, hopeful that maybe he could put an end to this misery. “I think the extra practice with them will benefit us moving forwards.”

The king had held true to his promise from dinner. In the past weeks, his training had been upped to most hours of the day, and twice he had been woken in the night for a practice assasination attempt in case he was surprised on the road. 

“The Firesinger and the Angel of Death,” The old man used the names they had been spreading up and down the coasts their scouts were able to reach to try and strike fear into the hearts of the locals. “Are not going. It has been decided.” 

“They’re not coming with? After all of our practice? Who’s going to have my back?” Dream demanded, words spilling out of him. 

They had also been practicing for weeks, learning how to avoid the destructive path of Sapnap’s fire and the sharp-edged sweeping swing of George’s sword and work as a real team. 

“They are required elsewhere, on the front lines.” The man explained, pulling a practice sword off the rack just to check it for dust. “When you sneak behind the enemy’s defenses and infiltrate their home, war will be declared as soon as possible. Especially if you kill their king. We will need the Firesinger and the Angel of Death to lead the armies.”

It didn’t escape Dream’s mind that the kingdom was relying an awful lot on teenagers to make sure the wrong nation didn’t collapse and the right one did. He didn’t speak up. 

Out of habit, he flinched when one of the newer trainees cried out. He was ill prepared to hear the sound, and he suffered for it. 

The Weapons’ Master cocked an eyebrow. “Are you afraid, Dream?” He asked.

“No, sir. I just wasn’t expecting to hear such a loud sound.” He answered quietly. 

“Good. Fear is useless. It will do you well to remember that when you face the Blood God in open battle. He will not hesitate the way your trainers do, scared that they might kill you.” The Weapons’ Master sighed theatrically. “Oh, if only we had more time. You’re still but a child.”

He knew his mother would have something to say about this speech later when he told her. 

Dream clenched and unclenched his fists, willing his mouth to stay shut. “Yes, sir.” 

“Shocked at the slightest of sounds. Untested in combat. Ah, but there’s no helping that. We wouldn’t want our prized weapon to be cut down in a battlefield.” 

Weapon, prized weapon. He hated it, hated how they saw him as a tool and not a person. 

The prophet said he would walk a great path, one different from his half-brothers, but a great one nonetheless. 

He would kill the Blood God, return home to win the war beside his only friends, and then live out his days in peace and quiet somewhere in a surrounding kingdom where no one would ever demand something of him again.

Dream would go door to door, offering to help those who needed it the most, and he wouldn’t touch those who required him to. 

He would walk his own path.

Dream could only hope that the path didn’t include being a weapon for the rest of his life.   
\-------------------------  
He stood with his shoulders back and pack over his shoulders, the soldiers by his side unfamiliar. They had replaced Sapnap and George with some no name high ranking soldiers. 

Dream hadn’t been able to speak up when faced with the king’s wrath. 

He slammed a hand against the wall, sending the paintings rattling. “For fucks’ sake, Dream!” He shouted. “This isn’t about George and Sapnap, this is about your goddamn path, isn’t it?”

Dream cowered, back against the wall. “No, I’m sorry- I- I just need them, I need them near me,” He stuttered. 

The stutter only came out in front of the king. It was something he had long ago learned to live with, how he stumbled over words in front of authority figures. Puffy had taught him how to hide it well, but nothing was ever hidden from the king. 

“You need nothing. You are a weapon, and needing is weakness. You will learn how to exist without them, and you will like it.” The king hissed, hand raised.

“I can’t, I can’t-” He practically sobbed. 

The backhand came down so quickly he didn’t have the time or room to dodge. It cracked loudly in the absence of speaking.

When he spoke again, the king’s voice was hushed. “I will be ashamed when the history books record you as the greatest product of my reign.”

With that, the king left the room. Dream was left alone with his split lip and bruised cheek.

Remembering the events made his cheek throb. Dream held his emotions in a tight grip as the send off line made their way down the row of troops. 

He knew the send off was because of his eighteenth birthday, two days prior. No one would question it if he was shipped off to fight now. 

Sapnap reached him first, right after the procession of old men in ceremonial garb holding honorary titles for wars fought in years before, ghosts of the past come to haunt him before he left.

“I know we’re not going to be there, but you’re going to do great, man.” Sapnap assured, pulling him in for a hug. “Bring us back a souvenir?”

“You’re an idiot.” Dream laughed, patting him on the back. 

“An idiot that would have been useful to have by your side.” He shot back, grinning devilishly. 

Dream sighed goodnaturedly, letting him go. “Promise me there won’t be any reports of excessive arson on the frontlines when I return?”

“Whoa, we’re making promises now?” Sapnap joked, falling back on the comforting familiarity they shared. “As long as you don’t return a war criminal.”

That got an eye roll. “You know they’ll glorify me no matter what.” 

“I know.” Sapnap responded. “That’s why you need to remember yourself out there.” There was a somber silence for a moment, filled by the chattering of those around them. “We’ll miss you, Dream. We’ll be waiting.”

“Goodbye, Sapnap."

The stream of old men continued, only interrupted by Karl’s good natured smile and extended arms. “Dream? We’ll be waiting, just for you.” 

Dream crushed the other man in a hug, squeezing tightly. “And I’ll be waiting for you, Karl. Where are you stationed?”

“Just outside the border, I think. It hasn’t been set in stone, yet.” He answered easily, small smile still present. 

“Have you and Sap said goodbye?” Dream asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

Karl’s mouth downturned, shooting him a dirty look. “Yes. Have you and George?”

Dream waved him off, stepping back. “He’s on his way here now.” He said airly. “Bye, Karl.”

“Bye!” He said, skipping off. 

The line moved forwards again, bringing him face to face with George, who crushed him in a hug immediately. 

“Kill him quickly. We’ll miss you terribly.” He admitted. 

Dream snaked his arms around the smaller’s back. “We?”

He could almost feel George’s blush. “We.” He doubled down. “I’ll be waiting in the nemophila field for you.”

The image came to him uninvited, of George standing against a sunset, with eyes only for him, a flower bloom proffered matching the one already tucked behind the man’s ear. 

Dream had pressed the floor given to him and tucked it within the journal he was supposed to keep while he was gone. 

“Will you send me flowers, Georgie?” He asked, pushing the other man further, just to see if he would break and say the words he insisted on not saying. 

He stepped back, pulling away from the hug first. Dream thought he was going to move on without another word, when he turned at the last moment. “I’ll give you anything you want, Dreamie. Say it, and it’s yours’.”

Before he had time to comprehend the scope of those words, Puffy stepped forwards, passing quite a few people. 

His mother swept him up in hug, and he clutched her tightly, drinking in a few last memories of her before he wouldn’t see her for possibly a year.

When he was about to pull away, she gripped him. “The Weapons’ Master is wrong. Fear is not useless. You cannot let it control you, but you must control it.” 

“Mother?” He tried to speak, but she forged ahead.

“Fear is a creeping plant that snakes its way around man’s feet without him fully realizing it. Water it like one, fertilize it like one, and you have become the master of fear. When fear is your houseplant, the world is your garden. Remember that, Dream.” She whispered into his shoulder, before pulling away abruptly.

She gave a courteous handshake to the soldier next to him, leaving him to greet the next person in line. 

He certainly didn’t feel ready, but he had been trained his entire life for this. 

Dream was ready. He had to be ready.

Dream was going to kill a god.


	2. The Sapling

Dream clutched his coat tighter to himself, trying to hide his shivering. Long ago, his guides had peeled off to return home or fight some other enemy. He was alone now.

He had tracked across continent and crossed seas, just to be met with the Blood God himself in the middle of this snow-covered field. 

“I’ve been looking for you for months.” Dream breathed, air turning white when he spoke. 

The man was massive. When he turned, Dream could see that he had not escape his many conquests unscathed. Scars crisscrossed his body in an odd patchwork pattern, shading the odd pinkish tinged skin a lighter pink. 

He tilted his head. “I can’t say the same about you, funnily enough.” 

“I’m the rebel king.” Dream said, raising his chin to look more important than he felt. 

That got a laugh out of the man. “Do you think you can kill me?”

“I do.” Faced with this man, Dream suddenly felt less nervous. The man in front of him was a real enemy, something he could fight, unlike the creeping doubt that snuck in every night. 

He stepped forwards. “Many have tried. What makes you so different?” They were in striking distance, now.

The flowers around them opened up to the sky, searching for the blocked sun, tree sprouting new branches and twisting upwards. The Blood God quirked an eyebrow, looking like he wanted to say something to that, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Violence may be the universal language,” Dream hefted his axe, looking the Blood God directly in the eyes as he said the Antarctic’s famous line. “But dead men don’t speak.”

Dream’s axe swung wide. 

The Blood God dropped to the ground, a smaller tree splitting in half. The top crashed to the ground in the spot where he just was. 

Rolling, man sprung back up, turning his sword in time to lock blades with Dream. They clashed together with the sound of metal and willpower and storm.

It was snowing. Fat snowflakes that caught in his cloak and stuck to his cheeks, splashing against the grass and mixing with the dirt to create mud that collected on his boots a a thin film of frost across the field.

If this was a dance, Dream was certainly not letting the Blood God lead it, not as he tossed his axe to his other hand, spinning it around his thumb and grinning with wild abandon. 

The storm overhead worsened, clouds gathering above. A dark grey color, they swirled and swirled, as if readying themselves. 

Before Dream could even react, the Blood God twirled his sword up, bringing it down in a vicious arc that clashed at the man in the mask’s hip, then again at his chest, and back down to his feet.

The blows seemed to be accentuated by gusts of wind, the force of them knocking over the surrounding trees. 

Dream didn’t budge, one foot wedged in the ground that cracked beneath them. He spun,   
pivoting enough to hook his axe around the Blood God’s foot, pulling his leg out from under him.

The man turned as he fell, hand planted in the slippery grass, torso twisting to right itself as he popped back up, righting himself in front of Dream. 

Anger and sweat and steel clashed in a lethal battle. Carefully, so carefully, Dream stepped closer, bringing his axe up over his shoulder and down again in a devastating arc.

The grass grew wildly around them as Dream was too distracted to leash the magic, green pushing past the constant falling layers of snow pouring from the angry, grey skies.

Their dance was a dangerous one, complete with magic unlike anything the world had seen, and it was deafening. The destruction they wreaked on the world around them would be noticeable for years afterwards.

The Blood God met him halfway with his sword, and thunder clapped as they lock blades. “You’re lucky that I’m wearing my earrings today.” The man hissed cryptically, probably just to distract Dream. He paid the words no mind. 

The man forced the blades closer and closer to Dream’s face, till he was forced to concede a step. 

As soon as he took the step backwards, the Blood God loosened his grip, and raised two fingers, bringing them down in a cleaving arc that had lightning following, his face contorting in pain and concentration. 

The earrings in the man’s ears sparked, glowing an otherworldly color. 

Trees were cut in half, those that weren’t sliced going up in flames, water boiling as the bolts bent to his will. 

Dream’s world became sizzling and pain as a bolt sliced down his face, from hairline to chin, taking out his eye. It burned so badly he fell to a knee. 

He clutched at it, his hand coming away sticky with blood, and when he tried to use the power that hovered behind his skin to heal it, nothing happened. 

He coughed out a sob, hand practically glued to his eye. Dream spat out blood, his stomach revolting against the smell of burning flesh that inhabited his nose. 

A song had once drummed through his veins, but now the only fear flowed alongside his lifesblood.

Vaguely, Dream could see the man approach, kneel down before him. “Who sent you to kill me?” He demanded.

“King, the king, I have to kill you, I have to.” Dream babbled, standing on shaky feet. He whirled, trying to find the axe he must have dropped in the earlier scuffle. “I need to. I need to kill the Blood God, I need to kill you.”

Panic and adrenaline override the pain, after years of his purpose being drummed into his head. 

He had seen the altars people built for him, the giant chapels erected with statues of him back home. He had to kill a god, he had to. 

Unable to locate a weapon, Dream lunged blindly forwards, only to feel the cold grip of someone’s hands against his neck, and the immense urge to sleep. 

Before he succumbed to it, he heard a smattering of voices arguing and someone vomiting. 

“Tubbo!” A higher pitched, panicked voice shouted, the sounds of plants being crushed and stumbling footsteps following.

Then he was out like a light.  
\-------------------------  
When Dream woke, he was tied to a wooden chair in a homely kitchen that was filled with the aroma of cooking and antiseptic herbs. 

He tried to lift a hand to his face, where he could still feel the phantom burn, smell the wasted flesh bubbling. It made him retch. 

He was unable to do so, though, as his were arms bound to the chair with a makeshift knot made of rope. It only rattled when he pulled more, not giving way. 

The quiet chatter that had been emanating from the kitchen doorway hushed immediately at the sound, and was replaced by multiple sets of footsteps. 

Dream realized somewhat belatedly that the entire left half of his face was wrapped in bandages, swathed in white and he was the source of the antiseptic herb smell. 

A short woman hurried into the room carrying a box that looked to be full of medical supplies, followed by a child who couldn’t be more than thirteen loudly talking to the last member of their little train, a tall, thin man wearing glasses and a beanie. 

“Tommy, go check on Tubbo.” The tallest man instructed, and the kid stopped talking mid sentence to groan. 

“Wilbur, it’s just getting good though! We have him all tied up, we can make ‘em talk!” The kid named Tommy protested. 

“You need to go check on Tubbo.” The man said again, this time with some force behind it.

With a dramatic sigh and a muttered word under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “bitch.”, Tommy was off down the hallway to another room, presumably. 

The man sat down at the other side of the table, studying Dream. The woman set her box down, opening it up to reveal an array of herbal concoctions and bandages. 

“We were starting to worry that you wouldn’t wake up at all,” She joked thinly, smiling at him. It was a pitiful attempt to lighten the mood. “But you seem to be fine.”

He sent her a baleful look with his free eye, hoping it communicated his opinions on the statement. She must have gotten the general message, because her gaze flicked over to the head wrap. 

“He certainly looks fine.” The man commented dryly. 

Dream tried his best to glare, thrashing a bit more at the poor attempt at a joke. 

Glossing right over that statement and its reception, the woman continued. “I’m Nihachu. I need to change your bandages, is that all right?” She asked. 

“Whatever.” Dream said. 

Taking that as a yes, she went ahead and did just that, fingers dancing across his face. 

It was only when she had the white strips of linen off that Dream realized he wasn’t able to see. There was no vision from his eye on the left. It wasn’t blocked by the cloth, it just wasn’t there at all. The familiar roiling sensation in his gut returned. 

Both Nihachu and the man flinched at what they saw. 

He had his own idea of what they were seeing, from the blistering burns that seemed to eternally throb across his forehead to the cut that had cleaved through his whole cheek so that he could prod his tongue through the hole. 

The pain ebbed at his remaining vision, eating away at his consciousness. They may have cleaned his wounds while he was knocked out, but they certainly hadn’t given him anything for the pain.

“Put the bandage back on.” Dream said quietly. 

Air whistled through the gash when he talked. 

He felt the urge to vomit. 

Nihachu hesitated, looking at him. “I still need to put salve on, and-” 

“Put the bandage back on!” He shouted, loudly enough that the entire house went quiet, the talking in the other room silencing as well. 

She worked slowly, as if her hands were frozen, as she pulled a fresh set of linens out. 

The man wasn’t happy with his tone, though. “We brought you into our home after you tried to assassinate our brother-”

Nihachu held a hand up for quiet. “Wilbur.” She said, and that got him to stop talking. 

If he didn’t want the bandages to be replaced as quickly as possible, Dream would have spat at the man. As it was, Nihachu was standing in front of him, blocking his shot. It wouldn’t have done him any good. 

So Dream sat in sullen, charged silence. When she finally finished, wiping her hands off, she shot him a pitying look.

He hated her. 

“You are welcome to stay for dinner, if you wish.” Nihachu offered, the best attempt she could make at a smile crossing her face. 

Before Dream could tell her to shove it, the kid from before appeared in the doorway once again. “You’re letting him stay for dinner?” He practically shrieked, pointing a finger at him. “Wilbur was right! That man tried to kill Techno!”

Wilbur’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Tommy. How long have you been listening in?” 

Techno. The Blood God’s real name. “Techno.” He said aloud, testing the syllables out on his tongue. 

“Keep his name out of your filthy fucking mouth.” Wilbur whirled on him, before turning back to Tommy. “You need to leave. You’ve done enough already.”

“But- he’s awful! He came to find us to kill us!” Tommy insisted, fists balling, ignoring the first question the man asked. 

“Calm down, Tommy.” Nihachu urged, gaze darting between him and the hallway. “Tubbo is having a hard enough time with just one.”

“Tubbo has to deal with Techno all the time, he can handle me!” The kid forged ahead. “Make him leave, now!” 

Dream flashed a sardonic smile he was sure they couldn’t see. “I would love to, but I’m pretty sure I’m a prisoner.” He rattled the chair again, just to prove his point. 

“I’d be happy to free you.” The kid spat back, full of malice that he didn’t seem outwardly capable of. 

“Tommy,” Nihachu began in a measured tone. “You weren’t much better when we found you.”

“It was only a trap to rob him! We didn’t know who he was!” The kid insisted, gaze still fixed squarely on Dream. “It wasn’t a fuckin’ murder plot!”

While they argued, volume growing louder and louder till the man called Wilbur intervened- only to join the yelling- Dream loosened his bindings. 

“Stealing money from an emperor by convincing him that your friend needed saving does not give you the moral high ground to-” Wilbur tried to argue

“We’re all angry, but we need to think together.” Nihachu urged. “This is not the time for blind rage.”

Tommy sneered at Wilbur, ignoring her in favor of banging his fists on their table. “This is a stupid idea! You’re going to get us all killed!”

At last, he pulled his arm free with enough force to send the chair backwards with crash, falling head over heels. 

Dream pulled himself up off the ground, even as his bones screamed in protest. Looking down, he could see where the impact of his cheek against the ground had caused blood to seep through the bandages and stain the threadbare carpet on the ground. 

He turned and vomited this time. 

It was silent in the room as the three other inhabitants stared at him. 

Dream wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, the taste of blood and sickness still seemingly omnipresent. 

He swayed forwards on unsteady feet, looking for any weapon he could. The similarity of the situation to his old one was not lost on him, especially not as the kid opened his mouth.

“TUBBO!” He screamed, so loudly that Dream’s hands flew up to cover his ears, eyes screwing shut. 

He forced them open again as an even shorter kid stumbled into the room, looking gaunt and just as sickly as he felt. The child clutched a handkerchief to his mouth, his eyebags dominating most of his face. 

Neither of the adults commented on his state. 

Dream felt unsteady on his feet as he backed up a step. 

The kid- presumably Tubbo- dropped his handkerchief, revealing blood stains and phlegm. He peeled off black gloves, stepping forwards. 

With his back pressed against a cabinet full of teacups, Dream realized what happened to him the first time. 

“Empath.” He hissed bitterly, right before the kid placed his hands on Dream again.   
\-------------------------  
They dumped him just outside castle walls, without bandages or weapons, revealing the true extent of his defeat. 

The king brought him in immediately, probably praying that no one had seen him in such a sorry state. If only the zealots could see him now. Maybe they would stop their foolish worshipping. 

Puffy cradled him closer, Dream’s head across her lap as she combed her way through his hair. “It’s going to be okay.” She shushed. 

He did not cry, and had not spoken a word in the three weeks he’d been home since he met with the king who communicated his disappointment thoroughly. 

“They’re not going to make you go back to training, not yet. You can recover.” His mother didn’t believe her own words even as she spoke them. 

It was only a matter of time before he returned to the training grounds, if the king hadn’t found some hell to put him through to constitute a fair punishment for his failure. 

His mother’s hand tugged through his hair, even though she had thoroughly de-knotted it days ago. Puffy had learned not to show weakness years ago, but she was scared for him. 

Dream knew it. 

He knew that when his mother was scared, he should be too. 

He licked his lips, wetting them, and spoke. “Where are Sapnap and George?” He croaked. 

His mother started underneath him, unprepared to hear his voice. “Sapnap is still on the frontlines. Last time we received a message, he was getting a promotion. He’s the general’s right hand man, now. Karl George…. Is home. On leave.”

“I want to see him.” His voice cracked, both because of the undercurrent of emotions and the disuse of it for the past weeks. 

“I will try my best to arrange it for you.” She promised. Dream knew she felt guilty that she was unable to help him any more than this. 

“I missed them.” He whispered. “While I was- I was gone.”

Her hand stiffened on his scalp. “They missed you too. Sapnap sent me letters, asking about you.”

“What did they say?”

Puffy took a deep breath. “I’m not sure. The King wanted to read them, first.”

Dream chose not to react to that statement. “And Karl?”

There was another pause. “He’s missing in action.” His mother said, words stilted coming off of her tongue.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.” He admitted softly. 

Puffy was quiet. The sound of the wind blowing through the gauzy curtains separating the balcony from the rooms dominated the silence, supplemented by the bustling of the outside world that Dream had been isolating himself from that drifted up through the slats of the balcony railing.

Finally, she spoke. “I know.”

“I’m tired.” He said. 

“I know.” 

His cheeks were wet with the tears ripped from his eyes. Dream watched them slip off of his face, falling to the carpet beneath the couch and occasionally straying to the fabric of Puffy’s dress. 

“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to live in the woods, in a cottage, by myself.” He said.

“I know.” She repeated, unable to say anything else at the words spilling out of his mouth. Her hand retracted from his head, comforting weight gone. 

“I want to see the stars. I want to look out at the sea and not feel like I’m destined to die.” 

Dream could hear her own muffled sob, and suspected that she had removed her hand to cover her mouth. 

“I want to travel the world and taste spices this continent has never heard of and discover new places and write of them and live.” His voice broke on the last word, building strength failing him. “I- I want.” 

It was quiet, save for the ragged inhale and exhale of his chest, racked with sudden sobs that matched his mother’s. 

“Am I not allowed to want? Can I not have that?” He asked, scrambling to sit up and look at her, see her eyes. Her face was blurry behind his film of tears. “Am I really only meant to fight for the rest of my life?”

Puffy raised shaky hands to his head, holding the sides of his face gently. “We are made for more than just war. We have to be.” 

Dream forgot, sometimes, that his mother had fought in countless battles. She was so young when she had him, and had barely aged since. She was just as worldweary as him, if not more so. 

“What if we’re not? What if we are made by the gods to live and die by these atrocities we commit?” He demanded, searching for an answer he would never get. “What then?”

His mother’s smile was laced with regret and despair. “Dream-”

“Do you remember- remember the prophet? She said,” He took a deep breath in, coughing. His vocal cords rebelled after resting for so long. “That I would walk a great path.”

“I remember.” She said simply. “I remember when you were only a boy. You still are one now. You have your whole life ahead of you. Do not let yourself be defined by these actions.”

“How else should I define myself?” He asked, genuinely looking for an answer. He had never felt more unsure of himself, the seeds of despair growing steadily within his head. 

“I think that’s one of the things you have to find out for yourself. But just because you have done bad things does not mean you are an entirely bad person. You can do good things without being a good person. Make sure that your actions balance out.”

Dream laid back down, tucking himself closer to his mother. It wasn’t a satisfactory answer, but in all honesty, he didn’t know what he was looking for. 

“The history books are not going to look kindly upon me.” Dream said, his tone not leaving any room for argument. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. 

Puffy was left speechless. 

After all, it was the first lesson he had learned with the tutors; History is written by the winners. 

Dream wasn’t the winner. He knew that the Antarctic Empire was assuredly marching on them as they spoke. 

Hopefully he would be dead before they could paint him as a monster.   
\-------------------------  
Dream finally crested the last of the rolling hills that made up the castle garden’s outer fields, stumbling towards the man on the horizon. It was the first time he had been out of his mother’s rooms since he was home. 

The fresh air on his face was refreshing, the smell of flowers and spring and rain high in the air. 

The man whirled, striding towards him to catch him in a bone-crushing hug. “Dream.” George breathed. The dying rays of the sun cast shadows across his vision, blurring his perspective. 

Even then, he could tell. Six moons had done nothing to temper his feelings for the other man. 

Everyone loved to call George beautiful- the most common rumor about him said that “if he was even half as deadly as he was beautiful, there still wouldn’t be enough blood in the world to sate him”.

But that wasn’t true. George wasn’t beautiful; He was devastating. 

“George.” He said, gripping the other man tighter. “George.” Dream breathed him in like a drowning man, already drunk on his steady warmth. “I’ve missed you, so much. Sapnap and Karl aren’t even here, I miss them too, but god, Georgie, I’ve missed you differently.” He rambled.

Pushing right past greetings or any sort of formality, he spoke. “They’re coming for you.” George whispered into his shoulder. “Right now, as we speak. They’re going to do awful, awful things to you.” His voice cracked. Dream folded him tighter to his chest. 

“What?” His own sounded panicked. “How do you know?” His mother had hinted at this with her state the past few weeks, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. His father was ruthless, but he had morals, surely? 

“I’ve had to work at his side, Dream! They’ve had me spying, but I did some of my own.” George pulled back to look at him, fingers threading in the back of his hair. “Promise me.”

“Anything, Georgie.” He said immediately, not waiting to hear what he would have to swear. It didn’t matter what the other man said, he would promise it whether he could give it or not. 

“Promise me that you will not give in. No matter where they take you or what they tell you, promise me you will not become the monster they want you to be. I know you aren’t one, so do not let them make you one.” 

“I promise.” Dream said. George’s voice was strained, his face pinched tight with fear, but in that moment, he could have asked Dream to lay the world at his feet and he would have done so willingly. “I promise.” He repeated.

“Promise they will not have your soul, your heart.” He urged. 

Dream’s gaze flicked down to George’s lips, and back up to his eyes. So slowly, he lifted an arm to pull the pressed nemophila bloom from his back pocket. 

He handed it to George carefully. “They already belong to you, Georgie. They can’t have them.”

“They’re mine?” The man enveloped in his arms asked, almost disbelieving. He looked down at the flower. “Mine.” 

“They always have been.” From the first time they met, when George knocked him on his ass in the middle of a village square to when they started showing up daily to the nemophila field to today, it was always him. 

George watched him with wide eyes, gaze tracking a tear that slipped down his cheek. He stood up on tip-toes, wiping it away with a fingertip. 

Without saying a word, he moved to tracing a hand across the scar that started at his hairline. Dream’s eyes fluttered shut as George’s pinky ghosted over his eyelid and the milky, useless eye beneath, following the path of the ruined skin all the way to his lip. 

His gaze darted across George’s lips and then he surged forwards, connecting them. His hands tangled in the brown locks that framed his face, trying to savor this moment as much as possible. 

George shared that sentiment, fingers dancing over the bottom of his hairline, threading in some of the smaller strands and tugging lightly. 

When Dream finally pulled back for a breath, George’s cheeks were delightfully flushed, eyes tracking him like he might disappear at any moment. 

Dream would give all of it up in a second, his power, his family, the army of worshippers that watch his every move, his father’s kingdom, if only he could have George. 

As if in warning, the sky darkened. He looked up, just as George pulled him back quickly. 

“Remember. You promised.” His voice nearly broke, before he shoved Dream back a few steps.

From across the field, soldiers bearing his father’s inner guards’ insignia stopped in formation, an odd V that seemed too defensive to be natural, as if readying for a fight. 

The one in front cleared his throat, and recited clearly practiced words. “Dream, you have been summoned by his majesty. He hopes that you wish to correct these unfortunate grievances that stain our nation’s name, and right the wrongs that you have committed these past moons.” 

Dream looked at George one last time, the moment ringing with a bittersweet finality. He was just returning to training- Why did this feel like the last time he would see the man? 

A strange sort of panic clawed at his chest, trying to break free. Dream nodded distantly, stepping towards the soldiers, his gaze on George the entire time. 

“Goodbye, Georgie.” He said, even though he had only see the man for such a seemingly short time.

George smiled, and it was not a happy thing. Sadness edged it, laced with notes of despair, and yet the rest of his face remained stoic. Dream had seen that face before, when the man tried to shield himself from feeling too much. It did not bode well for him. 

“Bye, Dreamie. Remember your oath.” George returned. 

So Dream took the parting words, tucking them close to his heart, and stepped into the ranks of the elite soldiers that would escort him back to the castle.

The consequences of that choice would haunt him for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know in the kids tv shows where a character would offer them weed? they didn’t know how lucky they were. why won’t anyone offer ME weed?? why do i have to go out and buy it myself like a fucking shmuck???


	3. The Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for pretty gory torture

The mask limited his breathing, sending his lungs rattling at every ragged intake, wet with despair and the tears that were trapped beneath the searing heat of the metal that covered his face.

It was one of many miseries that the king had designed for him to bear deep beneath the castle, in dungeons he thought were reserved for the worst kind of criminals. 

Dream’s arm still screamed at him, raw with phantom pain from where they had burned away at the skin until it was red and blistering and angry, till he was screaming and thrashing.

They had brought healers in moments later, reforming the limb only to start the process anew. 

“How long has it been since you were able to use your power, Dream?” The King demanded, drawing him out of the memory of an old torture and into the new one. 

His leg was shattered from the knee down. In fact, they had started with the kneecap, had implanted a stormsteel plate into it just to hear the sound of his vocal cords being blow out from screaming. 

The metal was well in his bloodstream, by now. The man in the hood holding the mallet raised it a fraction, and Dream pulled at his bindings till his wrists were as raw as his throat. 

It didn’t stop the fall of the hammer, or the shattering of bone in his ankle. The king tutted, arms crossed, from his position across the room. 

“If you would just cooperate, this would be over for all of us.” 

The hooded man moved back, and there was quiet for a moment, for once in the weeks (moons? days?) he had been underneath the castle. 

“But you insist on being difficult.” The king finished. “I have a guest with me, today. I think you’ll recognize him.”

The words didn’t register, Dream was too busy drowning in his own thoughts, trying to escape whatever horror awaited him next. As if his mind offered any refuge, as if it had sheltered him from any of the pain that haunted every moment. 

What did register was the familiar face that stepped out of the shadows, face sunken and eye bags drooping. 

Karl had clearly been crying. He avoided looking at Dream’s mask, or maybe just Dream as a whole, his gaze centered solely on the wall behind the alter he had been chained to. 

“Karl here has been practicing his magic,” The king explained, finally moving towards the table. “We’ve spent so much time together, learning all about it. About how to activate stormsteel remotely.”

“No.” Dream whispered, the word slipping through his lips hoarsely, voice strained. “Please, no.”

A tear slipped down Karl’s cheek, and the boy closed his eyes. 

The king frowned, looking down at Dream. “This is your fault. I wouldn’t have to do this if you were honest with me in the first place. But for now-”

“No, no please, no-” Dream screamed, thrashing. The increased movement pulled at his ruined leg, and the throbbing of the formerly burned arm ripped a sob from his throat. “No- I can- No, please, please don’t!” 

Karl looked down at where the skin to Dream’s kneecap was pulled back, muscle exposed to open air and held apart by clamps to expose the stormsteel, and vomited all over the floor. 

The king flinched at the sound, clearly displeased. 

Dream hated the Blood God, hated how he was the reason all of this was happening. Without him, he wouldn’t have this shitty purpose, wouldn’t be feeling any of the pain. 

Dream hated the Blood God’s family, who had lured him in with false promises of dinner and care only to dump him outside of the kingdom, back into the king’s clutches, a vengeful trap for his previous actions. 

“Dream, I don’t ask that much of you. I give you all of this, the kingdom gives you all of this, and you still do not repay us.” The king said, hands laced. “They worship you as a god, and you are unwilling to be one.” 

The words rang clear in the silence. Karl wiped the vomit away from his mouth with a hand, eyes staying firmly averted this time. 

Dream most of all hated the underlying truth; That he would never be like the Blood God.

He knew he didn’t hate it half as much as the king did.

Because for all of his efforts, his time and his money and his armies, he would never be able to replicate the man. 

There was some wild part of the Blood God, a heart of fury that was never tamed or broken in that still roamed free, fueling his magic. 

Dream’s was most certainly tamed. He had no heart of fury, not anymore. All he had was despair and the wretched clutches of fear. 

Some monsters were created by circumstance. 

And try as he might, the king had been unsuccessful in recreating the environment that the Blood God was born out of. 

Maybe that’s where the secret lay, in the Blood God’s childhood. 

Dream didn’t particularly care. 

The king stepped forwards, and he shuddered, trying to writhe away. “Please, please.” He whispered, straining against his own blown out vocal cords. 

“Your first mistake was sitting at a table with them. You have become one of their kind, Dream.” The disdain in the king’s voice had become expected. 

I’m not one of them, He thought, waging war against himself to try and get the words past his lips. I didn’t eat with them, I didn’t mean to become this thing. 

“A betrayer.” The word was practically spat. “Where did we go wrong with your upbringing? When did you become so willing to be a turncoat? We taught you to spill blood and conquer kingdoms, and instead you almost die a fool’s death.”

Dream wondered when he did become like this. Not a betrayer or a turncoat, but a hateful thing content with the world’s destruction. 

He wanted to watch the world go up in flames, all of it, and most of all, he wanted to burn himself into ash on the wind and never have to look at any of it any more. 

The world was a miserable place. He hated it. 

Dream wished it was over, all of it. 

“I-” He croaked out, drawing the attention of the entire room. “Wish this world would burn.” He hissed with as much venom as he could muster, pain fuzzing the edges of his vision. 

Dream tried not to notice the way Karl flinched. 

He didn’t know if he cared or not anymore. 

The king said something, lip curling, and Dream didn’t hear it. 

The world sounded hollow around him. The smoke drifting off of the torches that lit the dim room wafted in circular motions, clouding the rooms. 

Dream had walked through the fire, fought a god, and still ended up in the prison beneath the castle. 

He shut his eyes, breaths coming fast. He could hear it, his own heartbeat. 

Where the thing inside him once lived, there was nothing left but dust and despair. 

For just a second, a millisecond, Dream let himself think of a future where he and Karl and George and Sapnap all lived in the woods in the middle of nowhere, in a little cottage with animals and a farm where they grew their own food, just like Techno’s family did. 

It was a traitorous thought, one that made a lone tear slip down his cheek, mourning a future that never would come to fruition. 

The king was shouting now, loudly, Dream could tell. Karl’s eyes had that wide look about them, like he was trying desperately to figure out how to escape the situation. 

Dream was brought back down to the real world by a slamming sound, followed by repeated crashing noises. 

He wondered what torture they had devised for him next. 

A scream sounded, loud and ringing. 

“Someone take care of that.” The king instructed shortly, turning his sights back to Dream.  
\-------------------------  
Puffy slammed the guard headfirst into the stone wall, turning wide as the other swung forwards. 

She spun on the thin step, shoving the other guard down the stairs, crashing sounds echoing through the spiral stairwell that twisted downwards ominously, shrouded in darkness. 

No longer bothering to tread lightly, she forged forwards, large wooden door banging open loudly. 

She tried not to let her face betray her emotions as she took in the sight before her, her son laid out on that horrible altar as if he was a sacrifice and his friend next to him shaking like a leaf. 

“Captain Puffy.” The king said evenly, but his face was drawn tightly, anger clear as day in the worn lines of his face. “Is there a reason you’ve stormed down here?”

“I missed my son.” She shot right back. “I see that your… training… has continued, even against my approval.” 

She had made it painfully clear that she didn’t approve of the methods used the first time around, how Dream had been made to think the enemy wasn’t human. That was the king’s first mistake. 

He had never been in a war, always watching from the sidelines. 

Puffy had. She’d fought against horrors and tyrants, and then fought for one. Puffy knew what it was like to look a man in the eyes as they died, to watch the life drain out of their eyes and soul leak into the ground, staining it red. 

She stepped forwards, looking down at her boy. Dream’s face was obscured by a porcelain mask stained with his blood. 

Puffy knew that denying your enemy their humanity meant sacrificing your own. She could only hope that her son did as well. 

“Dream,” She whispered in a hush tone. She couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

He shifted, head turning almost imperceptibly towards her. “Mom?” He croaked out, voice hoarse. 

Puffy clenched her hands. While normally hidden by her skirts, the firm lines of her armor did nothing to hide the display of anger.

How long had it been since she had heard that voice? How long had it been since he called her that?

She shifted closer, bending over the table so that the clasp that held his shackles was hidden from the king’s view. 

Puffy turned to him. “I want a minute with my son.” 

“You have no power down here, Captain Puffy.” He all but threatened, gaze stormy. 

She tilted her head, returning his look. “Your Majesty. I will talk to my son, and I will do it alone. I have to meet with our newest councilman in a very short period of time, so I would appreciate it if you made haste. The green drawing room is quite a walk from here.” 

The king’s jaw clicked as he ground his teeth, eyes bouncing from Puffy to the door to his guards. “Very well. I will be in the hall.” 

His strides were short, communicating his temper as the sound echoed through the dimly lit chamber. Puffy was not without leverage. The cavernous castle they called home revealed its secrets to her on the daily, the maids and guards and servants in her care affording her the oddities of every day life, inside information on everything that happened. 

As soon as the door shut behind the King and his tight circle of guards, Puffy whirled. 

The guard that had fought with her on the frontlines nearly ten years ago- the one she had tea with every day at ten since he saved her from being gutted like a fish- tossed her the key rings. 

She was already moving. The healers moved forwards, hands flying across Dream’s leg, trying to stitch together what remained of him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Karl whispered as he watched them work. 

Puffy unlocked the first cuff, moving to the second. The locks ground, like they hadn’t been opened in months. Which, she supposed, they hadn’t been. “You’re safe now Dream, I promise. We won’t let them keep you.”

The remaining guards rushed forwards in a flurry to help her. This nation was her puppet, dancing on her strings. Puffy made the laws, Puffy fought in the wars, and Puffy might as well have been the ruler. 

The second and third clasps fell away, and Karl was done with the fourth, and they heaved Dream up, setting him propped up on the table. 

Puffy crushed him in a hug. “You’re safe, Duckie. I promise.” She whispered to him. The healers had done their job repairing his leg. 

“You need to go, now.” Her guard said, pushing against the wall. It folded backwards, revealing the passage that she was promised would be there. Puffy nodded to him. 

“Thank you all.” She said, louder. “Duckie, you need to go. Run.” 

She pushed him off of the table, Karl grabbing his arm to support his weight, and they hobbled off into the passage. 

Puffy turned back towards the table, only sparing the briefest of glances towards the object of so much misery. The guards fell in line beside her. 

Dream was paused in the passage still, unmoving. 

“Mom. Don’t fight him, you can’t win. Please, come with me.” He begged, chest heaving. 

She didn’t turn. “Find someone to get that mask off of you, Duckie. I miss seeing your face.”

“Mom.” 

The king slammed open the door, guards filing in. 

His gaze darted around the room, and zeroed in on the opening in the wall. 

She stood in front of it, unmoving and expressionless. 

“Run, Dream.” She commanded, and planted herself in front of the door. 

The king sneered at her. “What have you done?” 

“That was my son!” She shouted. “That shell of a person? Do you even remember what he used to be like?” Puffy demanded. 

His footsteps bounced off the walls, still too loud, still too close. 

Her first mistake was stepping closer, so she could point a finger in his face, so she could properly convey the red hot anger flowing through her veins. 

Her second was forgetting the other guards, the elite ones that were loyal to a fault. 

And her final was underestimating the coldness of the king. 

He took his own step forwards, and slammed her head back against the stone wall before she even had a chance to say another word. 

Again, and again, and again, until her world was edged with pain and her skull was open on the wall. 

She felt numb as she fell to the floor, fingertips and toes tingling. 

Puffy prayed that it had been enough for Dream and Karl to get away.   
\-------------------------  
“We can’t- we have to go back!” Dream stopped in his tracks, even as Karl tugged gently at the half of his body he was supporting. “We can’t leave her with him!” 

“Dream, she put her life on the line for this, she knew this was a possibility.” He urged, and gave a larger pull that had them both stumbling forwards. 

“But-”

Karl paused briefly, their conversation backset by the sound of fighting and metal clashing still emanating from the sloped passage entryway. Up ahead, the castle library’s bottom floor waited, old archives that no one ever bothered reading anymore. The information in them was outdated and useless, cool artifacts of an early time and nothing more. 

The perfect spot to put a secret passage for staff. 

“Do not let her sacrifice be in vain.” He shouted, the sound practically bouncing off of the old, grey-stained walls. 

Dream’s face remained emotionless, at least as far as Karl could tell with the mask, but his body tensed, before he shoved the other man off. 

Then he was striding forwards, gait slightly off but still passable. 

The steep incline led them into the archives as expected, and then they were taking the stairs up to the main library, two at a time. 

Dream’s breath came fast, in gasps, muscles screaming after atrophying for so long. His legs felt nearly useless, and his lungs couldn’t get in enough air. 

They burst into the main section, to be met with more screaming and an array of blood. A maid stepped out of the shadows bearing a dagger, only to be met with another maid wearing a sheep pin that tackled her out of the way. “Go,” She hissed, already grappling with the other girl. 

Guards melted out of the bookcases to surround them, pushing Dream and Karl forwards.

“What’s happening?” Dream demanded, turning to the other man.

Karl grimaced in what might have been an attempt at a smile. “A coup?” 

Their pace was fast, bordering on running as they made their way through the chaos. The guards didn’t speak a word to either of them, occasionally peeling off to fight with oncoming attackers. 

As they made their way through the castle halls, Dream got to witness firsthand just how many supporters his mother had, the sheep pin prominently displayed on their clothing. 

“How many are there?” Dream asked, awe shining through his voice. He never suspected his mother was planning something like this. 

Karl shrugged loosely, even as one of their final two guards was stopped by a wayward butler’s knife. It was full-scale warfare in the middle of the castle. Dream briefly wondered what was happening in the military that was fighting the Antarctic Empire right now. 

“It’s hard to say. Puffy’s had these informants for longer than we’ve been alive. We’ve been planning this for… almost a year now.” Karl winced as soon as he got the words out, as if he realized what he’d just given away. 

A year. 

They burst out into the moonlight, gardens illuminated a soft white. The world outside was not spared from the bloodshed, though, and a look behind them revealed that the king’s elite guard had found them.

“Run.” Dream instructed, throwing one last glance over his shoulder. “The king’s on his way.”

Karl didn’t need much more convincing, taking off at a sprint to catch up with the other man. 

They hurtled through the loosely paved gardens, feet treading over flower blooms and kicking up the fresh patches of grass the garden-keepers had tended to for years. 

The bushes off to their left rustled furiously. “Watch your side!” Karl warned, skidding to a stop and waving his hands threateningly.

Drista burst out of them, breathing heavily. She slammed him in a hug, grinning widely. “Dream, you’re alive.”

“Drista.” He breathed, hugging her right back. 

She pushed him off, turning to guard their flank. “I’ve got them. You run. George is waiting for you. You need to rest and recuperate before returning.” 

“Okay.” He said. “Okay. Promise you’ll stay safe.”

“They won’t kill me. I’m still their princess.” Drista drawled, hand straying to her sword, still sheathed at her hip. “You’re the one who should stay safe. I’ll meet you later tonight.”

Dream looked back at her one last time, before taking off after Karl, hurtling through the manicured bushes stained red and dotted with corpses. 

They were all here, fighting for him. They were on his side. 

And they were losing. 

Too many of his father’s soldiers remained loyal, he could tell. This revolution, if it could even be called that, was going to fail. 

He put on a burst of speed, legs working in time with his arms. 

The night was stained with the dead and screaming of the dying. The stench of decomposition was already in the air, pervading his senses. To his left, a guard slit the throat of another wearing wearing a pin, blood splattering. 

Behind them, Dream could hear Drista’s grunt and the slam of steel as she presumably collided swords with one of them. 

He ran faster. 

Up ahead, a figure that he instinctually recognized as George waved wildly, jumping up and down.

Warmth spread over him, urging him faster, faster. 

Dream slammed into George, picking him up, even as Karl remained behind, picking up a dead soldier’s sword and wielding it at those still in pursuit. 

“Did you keep your promise?” George demanded immediately. 

He nodded furiously, still tucked into the older man’s shoulder. “Yes, every bit of it. All of me belongs to you Georgie. They can’t have it.” He repeated the words from more than a year ago.

George’s hands combed through his hair. “I would love you even if you hadn’t.” He said, and it sounded suspiciously like a confession.

“I love you too.” He whispered back, almost drowned out by the chaos that surrounded them. He watched as George’s gaze caught on his partially-healed leg that hadn’t been entirely finished.

His eyes darted around Dream’s face. “Dream,” He tried.

The sound of fighting grew closer, and a pained yelp from Karl cut the air. 

“I- it- I can’t-” Dream spluttered, pulling back, searching for the words that would sum up losing the one part of himself that truly loved. “It’s gone. It’s gone and I can’t fix it, and I don’t know where it went, only that it’s gone.” 

George pulled back, studying him, and the world might as well have stopped for him in that moment. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

“Don’t leave again.” He mumbled, as if that was something George could promise. 

He did anyways. “Never.”

Dream was brought out of his reverie by a sharp gasp, sending them sprawling. 

George scrambled back, raising a hand to his ear, where the thrown dagger had grazed his ear, drawing blood. 

The king stood, surrounded by the remaining number of his guards, a considerably smaller amount that when he started. Around them, the coup raged. 

“If you go easily, there won’t have to be-” The king tried to say. 

“Where is my mother?” Dream cut in, fists clenching at his sides as tidal waves of phantom pain crashed in his mind, dragging him beneath their surface and back to the memories of misery. “Where is she?”

The king’s mouth upturned in a hideous smile. “Dead. You watched her die. And if you don’t cooperate,” 

A soldier stepped forwards, hoisting Karl up by the hair. “I’m sorry.” The boy mouthed, tear slipping down his cheek.

“You’ll watch this one die too. And the one behind you.”

Dream looked down at his hands, clasping them together to hide the shaking. He turned to look at the king, meeting his eyes. “I think it would have been enough to keep me down there.” He said, voice strong in a way that even surprised himself. “It would have been, if I hadn’t been out in the world before.”

Because he might have been content with that half-life in the basement of the castle if he hadn’t seen the truth of the world in his friends and the gardens and his mother. Sure he met some awful people and bore witness to atrocious things, but it was still the closest to freedom he had ever known. 

And Dream would die before he let them take that from him. 

The king laughed, and the sound wrapped itself around Dream’s heart and squeezed. “Would it have been? I suppose the input is helpful. You’re not the only special one, Dream, and it’ll do you well to remember that. In fact, Sapnap tells me that he found a kid like you.”

“I won’t let you. I won’t let you.” He repeated, the words worming their way around his brain. His entire body was wracked with the trembling. 

“It’s funny you think you can stop me.” The king threw his arms wide, gesturing around them. “We are at war. There is no mercy! No mercy for you! I will do whatever I want, and you’ll be unable to stop me without that power of your’s.” 

The chasm inside of Dream yawned open, wider and wider than the days before. 

The king continued. “I think I’m going to make you watch as I take your little friends apart, piece by piece. I will bend you to my will, Dream, even if it means making them useless. Perhaps I’ll save George for last.”

“No.” He whispered. And then stronger, “No. I don’t care about them. You can kill them or let them go or toture them. They don’t matter to me.” 

He watched the hurt flash across Karl’s face, followed by a sniffle. 

“Oh, really?” The king asked, amusement plain on his face. “Now you don’t care for them at all?”

Dream shifted his stance. “Yes. You always taught me to find pawns, didn’t you? You can kill them, and we can go after the Blood God again.”

He would lie and betray his friends and feel nothing about it if it meant they would escape with their lives. 

“So you wouldn’t care if I..” The king gestured, and a guard stepped forwards, hauling George up by an arm and brandishing sword in an upwards arc. 

That was too much. 

Something inside of the chasm within him swirled angrily, shifting and swirling until it burst outwards, spiralling towards the king faster than the sword could cleave downwards. 

They could not have George. He would not let them have him, or Karl, or Sapnap. 

The shift was tangible in his power as it snaked upwards, travelling around the guards’ legs and upwards. 

One by one, and then all at once, they dropped to their knees. The king choked on air, clawing at his throat as Dream rammed his power down the man’s throat, wave after wave. George and Karl scampered back to his side, hiding behind him.

Dream smiled, slow and wide. The king’s eyes bulged as those around him died, blood seeping out of their mouths and ears, and occasionally, their eyes. 

The grass underneath them turned to brown, wilting. 

Death. 

Dream no longer controlled that life that prowled within him, purring like a cat when he used it. The thing inside of him wasn’t a housecat. It was a bobcat, vicious and spitting, furious and waiting to lash out. 

The king’s death was slow and painful, and Dream felt no remorse as he fell to the ground. 

None. 

Dream would tear the world apart for his friends and feel nothing, as long as they were happy. 

“Now, we need to get a message out to Sapnap.” Dream spoke, as if red still didn’t edge his vision and anger didn’t take up most of his brain function. He needed to stay ahead of it, the despair at what he had become. “And we need to find Drista.”

Karl and George looked at one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sure “The only universal language is violence” is raw but it has nothing on “I’ve sown the seeds for peace and yet I’m the one who pays for war”


	4. The Forest

Dream tapped his foot against the wood flooring impatiently, looking around for the people he was supposed to meet up with a midday. 

In the aftermath of the night that changed everything, it was found that Puffy’s body was missing. The guards still alive in the chamber stayed silent, even under torture. 

Dream had been trying to track her body down ever since, for some semblance of closure. 

It was also discovered that the entire royal family had been massacred, leaving only Drista and him. 

Drista was governing the kingdom by herself in his stead. In fact, she was the rightful heir. Dream was technically only her regent, even if she protested inheriting the throne. 

Although she wasn’t trained for the position, she was the right person for it.

Dream hated the Blood God, but from what his spies told him, they were similar. 

He wasn’t made to rule a kingdom, he was made for war. Maybe battlefields or sieges weren’t his specialty, but espionage and chase-downs were. 

He leaned back in his chair, just as George sat down next to him, sliding him a mug of ale. 

“Thanks.” Dream said. Karl sat down across from him, shadowed by Badboyhalo, who had joined in their search upon hearing the news. 

Bad cleared his throat. “Have you spotted him yet?” He asked, 

“He’s hiding well, I’ll give him that.” George sighed, laughter present in his voice as he dragged a fingertip across the rim of his glass lightly, smudging the metal rim. 

As if summoned by the voices, a face none of them had seen in over a year burst out of the crowds. 

Sapnap, bearing a five o’clock shadow that he clearly hadn’t bothered to manicure, popped out of the crowd, waving wildly and grinning so brightly it must have hurt his cheeks. 

“Sappitus Nappitus!” Bad crowed, the first to speak up. He was the one who hadn’t seen Sapnap in the longest, though.

It was only when Sapnap slid into one of the remaining seats did his small shadow become obvious, following in after him. 

“I missed you guys so much, no one in the vanguard wanted to hear my songs.” He bemoaned. 

Rather than laughing at the joke, all attention was focused on Sapnap pulling a worksheet and ink well out of his belt pockets, followed by a quill that he handed over. 

“When did you adopt a kid, Sap?” George broke the silence, eyebrows raised incredulously. “And without Karl, no less!”

The kid looked up from the worksheet, pausing midair, hand still working on dipping the quill in the ink. “He’s not in charge of me.”

Karl spluttered, before settling on, “I’m a dad now?” George laughed at that. 

Sapnap rolled his eyes, stretching out his shoulders, and turned to the kid that accompanied him. “You think you would at least introduce yourself.”

“I’m Purpled.” The kid answered shortly, making a face at his apparent companion. 

When he looked up, Dream caught a glimpse of eyes that were, sure enough, bright purple. 

Badboyhalo sighed, gesturing towards the boy. “The muffin looks like he’s fourteen, why are you making him practice letters?”

“I’m not making him do anything!” Sapnap immediately protested. 

“Okay, but you definitely are.” The kid spoke up, grin ghosting across his features. “You said you wouldn’t teach me how you did the thing with fire if I didn’t learn how to write.”

“Because every kid should know how to write!” 

The volume of the conversation was rapidly increasing as they shot retorts back and forth.

George snorted. “You didn’t tell him that it was your thing?” He addressed Sapnap, who made an offended noise. 

“I know the fire’s unique to him.” Purpled said, wiggling his fingers. “I have my own thing.”

“Can you even call it a thing if it only activates reflexively?” Sapnap proposed, gesturing wildly as his hands moved across the table. 

Dream joined in the laughter with the others, but something about it still felt off, as though he was on the outside, looking in. 

“Woah, Sapnap, low blow.” Karl said. “Going straight for the kid’s throat immediately.”

“Let’s give them a demonstration!” Purpled suggested, looking animated for the first time that night. “That’s such a good idea, come on!”

Sapnap’s hands paused their journey on the table, briefly stiffening. “Maybe later. I’ll show them how ass you are at fighting.”

Bad’s head shot up. “Language!”

That set off another round of laughter. Once again, Dream felt out of place.

The world moved slowly, passing him by like molasses. He was vaguely aware of the conversation happening around him. 

It was like nothing had changed since the last time they were all together. Everyone fell right back into their old rhythm, joking and laughing and prodding at one another. 

It was exactly what Dream had longed for so desperately for the past year- for more than a year. So why did it feel off?

He was only pulled out of his little world when Sapnap said, particularly loudly, “Well, George, he’s fourteen fucking years old and almost as tall as you, so maybe you should sit this one out.”

Purpled nearly choked, laugh spilling out. 

Dream blinked furiously, trying to clear the fog from his head. 

“Language!” Bad reprimanded again, louder and more forcefully this time, which roused another round of laughter that Dream contributed to half-heartedly. 

It sounded fake, even to his own ears, but was thankfully mostly drowned out by Sapnap’s gleeful laugh. 

He pushed his chair back, loud scraping interrupting the flow of conversation, and offered a plastered on smile. 

They all looked to him. “I’m going to head up to the rooms. I’m feeling pretty tired after the day of travel.” He answered their unasked question. 

As he turned to leave, George caught his hand, thumb rubbing gently down the back of it. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, and Dream appreciated especially because he knew George hated public affection. 

Dream squeezed back. “Daddy, chill.” He wheezed, hoping the humor covered anything else lacing his tone. 

It worked, as George smiled, rolling his eyes and the table erupted into another round of laughter.   
\-------------------------  
The floorboards creaked loudly in the otherwise silent night air as Sapnap leaned against the balcony next to him. 

The inn was nice enough to provide them with adjoining rooms that shared a terrace.

“Can’t sleep?” Dream asked. 

Sapnap shook his head. “Not at all. Nightmares.”

Rather than make him expand on that, he moved on. “So, what can the kid do?”

“You know that bloodline that was famous for nullifiers?” Sapnap asked. 

Everyone knew about them. They were one of the few remaining families that passed on their power genetically. It was a rarity to find a dynasty like that nowadays. Most of those with real magical ability were born by chance, what with lifespan and Laorlan’s Sickness. 

Laorlan’s Sickness: An illness that claimed the lives of over seventy percent of children that possessed magic. 

“Of course.” Dream answered, still looking up at the stars. They were clear, pristine up in the sky, untouched by human cruelty. 

Sapnap ran a hand through his hair. “I think Purpled’s one of them. The last of them, really.”

He didn’t mean to burst the man’s bubble, but there were quite a few things wrong with that theory. “The last nullifier died like, fifty years ago. That’s not even mentioning how sickly their bloodline became at the end of their reign. The kid seems powerful from what you’ve said.”

“He is, I’ll give him that.” Sapnap laughed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. 

Dream made note of that. “Are you sure you don’t want to go inside?” He nudged, seeing if it was only politeness that kept him talking to a friend he hadn’t seen in ages. 

“Nah, I’m good out here.” 

He hesitated for a moment, before plowing right ahead. “Does this have anything to do with why you wouldn’t spar with Purpled earlier?” Dream never knew him to be one to pass up an opportunity to use that flame. 

Sapnap flinched backwards ever so slightly. “You noticed?”

Rather than answer that question, he moved forwards. “I know you, Sap.” The words were gentle, but not without emotion behind them. “It’s been a long time, but I’m still here for you.”

Continuing their little game of dodging the actual conversation, Sapnap smiled sadly. “George and Karl told me what happened.” He paused for a moment. “Was there really a… shift… in your power?”

Dream turned, leaning his back against the railing and propping his elbows up on the upper flat piece of wood topping it. He tilted his head so he could better see the moon. 

“Yes.” He answered, and then rushed forwards again, almost tripping over his words in his rush to get them out. “It feels different now, Sap. Before it was like a partnership, like the power was a gift.”

Sapnap didn’t judge him, only looked on with eyes that seemed to know too much. It was as if he knew that the wrong word choice could break the fragile environment they had created. “And now?”

There was a measured silence, backed by the chirping of crickets and the cawing of a bird so white it looked like snow. 

“There’s something… hungry within me. It’s waiting. I don’t know for what, but I can feel it. It’s angry, so angry. Maybe it’s me. I can’t tell anymore, and it scares me. I am I furious, or is it? I can’t tell anymore, there’s no distinction. Where do I end and where does the power begin?” 

Still, Sapnap studied him as if he could see the ruined face beneath the mask. “Before I left for the frontlines, your mother told me something. She said, ‘Cunning and cruel are two sides to the same coin. Be careful which side it lands on.’ As if I would need that information during the war. I laid awake for so many nights wondering if she knew something I didn’t.” 

Dream laughed shortly, unable to keep the amused sound up. “How long do you think I’ve dangled on the edge of cruel, Sapnap?” He asked, tone joking but meaning dead serious. 

He considered the question, as if weighing the consequences of his answer. “A while. You’re dangerous, Dream, brittle and vengeful and willing to do anything to achieve your goals, no matter who gets hurt.” The honesty cut deeply, but he preferred it to soothing lies. 

“Never you guys. Never Karl or George or Bad or you. Or Purpled, if you’ve taken him in for good now.” Dream swallowed thickly. 

“Exactly.” Sapnap burst, laugh twin to Dream’s earlier one. “As long as we are safe, you don’t care what else happens. Let’s not lie to one another Dream. We both know you’re going to hunt down the Blood God as soon as you find Puffy, and you’re going to do whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes, to wipe him off the face of this world.” 

For once, Dream didn’t even have words that he withheld. He was struck speechless. He settled for a portion of the truth. “I killed them. The guards and the king. And then I tortured anyone who might have information on my mother.”

“Yeah?” Sapnap encouraged.

“It felt good.” He admitted quietly. Then, he repeated it louder, as if speaking it into the world would clear up the guilt that haunted his every footstep. “It felt… right. It felt like justice. I don’t know, Sapnap, I don’t anymore. When I use it, it’s like I can’t even remember who I am. Sometimes, I think I want to be that person.” Was what he said, but it wasn’t the whole truth. 

Dream didn’t say that the power felt like nothing he had ever known, intoxicating and all-encompassing. He didn’t say that the screams he elicited was a chorus of the best kind, music that called to his blood. He didn’t say that the looks of horror he received satiated the hungry part of him. 

He didn’t say what he knew instinctively. 

It would never be enough. 

Tears shimmered in his eyes, blurring his vision, but he swore that he wouldn’t cry again. Dream was unwilling to show that weakness ever again. Just like his mask, it was a declaration. 

Sapnap blew out a heavy breath akin to a sigh, scrunching up his face. 

Before he could say anything, Dream spoke again. “What does your flame feel like? When you use it, I mean? Or even when you don’t.”

He answered quicker than any of the other times, a real, genuine smile settling across his features. “It’s… power.” He said, for lack of a better explanation. “It’s this sensation in my gut that tugs, and when I answer, it feels like joy. There’s nothing like it. It’s a call to arms that I always answer. It’s not separate from me like your’s seems to be. The fire, it’s entwined with my soul. I am the fire, and it’s me.”

Dream looked him up and down, watching the exaggerated lines of his face, so at odds with the boyish grin the man left with. He seemed more tired, now, world weary. 

“What happened to you, Sapnap?” He asked, his face conveying the range of emotions he felt in needing to even ask the question. 

“They made me hate it, just like how they made you hate your magic.” 

Dream didn’t have to ask if the ‘it’ in that sentence was the fire that eternally raged beneath the surface of Sapnap’s skin. It used to dance in his eyes, that touch of wild, unrestrained, glee. 

They didn’t name him the Firesinger for nothing. 

“Sapnap-”

Something strange glimmered in the man’s eyes, an emotion entirely foriegn to Dream. “I played executioner. I think they thought it would make me scarier. Like a bedtime story for children that wouldn’t go to sleep. Men, women, children, everyone. All of them tied to a stake. I think most of them were innocent, too. I carry their faces with me everywhere.” 

Dream thought he meant metaphorically, but he pulled up the hem of his shirt, revealing an array of of slashes that settled into scars in the pattern of a mostly melted candle. He could scarcely count how many.

“I stole the idea from George.” 

“George?” Dream asked incredulously. In all of the nights they had spent together, in clashes of teeth and mouths and skin, he had never explored the other man’s body enough to find the marks Sapnap claimed were there.

He grinned almost sadistically. “Where do you think your father got the angel idea from? His back is covered in them, in the pattern of wings.” 

The idea had never occurred to him. 

Sapnap returned to the original topic, smile slipping from his face. “They aren’t all executions, of course. They had me burn villages to ash. Even though I don’t know all of their faces, I still bear their weight.”

“It isn’t your weight to bear, though. You were forced to do it, Sapnap.” Dream tried, conviction filling the statement. Just because he was a monster didn’t mean the people around him were. 

If Dream bore their sins, then the people he cared about would be safe to hide in his shadow, praised as innocent. If he was cast as the manipulator of the pure, then his friends would be free to live their lives as victims if he ever fell from grace. 

“I could have fought. I could have fought a lot harder than I did.” Sapnap said, and it sounded like the admission nearly broke him. “Do you think the gods will even recognize us when we die? Will they remember crafting us? Or have we become so distorted by our crimes that we will slip past without notice?”

Dream thought about it honestly for a moment. 

“I don’t know.” He answered, ending the charged silence that lay between them. “I think I’m more scared of how our fellow man will judge us than some nameless god.”

Sapnap nodded as if he hadn’t considered that. 

“I fall asleep to their faces, Dream. I wake to their screams. I see their shadows in the woods, they jump out at me from the reflection of the pond. I can’t escape them. I don’t want to know how they will judge us. So I have to look forwards, upwards toward the gods.”

Dream felt tired. More so than he had in years. 

“I miss her, Sap. So much. She would know what to say.” Dream conceded frustratedly, running a hand through his hair. 

Sapnap nodded, expression still in a far off place. He was all too happy to just move past their previous conversation, though. “I know. We have a good lead, though. We’re going to find her, no matter what it takes. I know you.”

The repeated assurance eased some part of him. 

Dream nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Thank you, Sapnap. For everything.”

“It’s nothing, Dream.” He answered, and just like that, everything felt like it might be shifting back into place.

Even though he still didn’t quite know who he was or who he was becoming, Dream felt as though the tracks were clearer now.   
\-------------------------  
Dream stepped further into the cave, brushing a patch of vines out of the way for the rest of the group. Purpled followed, then Sapnap, then Karl, then Bad, then George, all in a single file line.

It had taken hours to get this deep underground, so far beneath the mountain that the water had begun to pool in the crevices, leaving surprisingly lush vegetation creeping along the walls in really quite vibrant colors. 

The tip that Karl had found was the one they had been chasing since they met up with Sapnap had led them all the way to the entrance of the cave system, mostly hidden by the surrounding forest and bad the directions they were given. 

Dream paused when he turned the corner, looking at the giant, stone, intricately carved and in the unmistakable shape of a door. 

“What the fuck.” George breathed, looking over the patterns. He brushed past the rest of the line as the cave opened up, running a hand across the carvings. 

Bad was so confounded that he didn’t even correct the curse. 

It was in some language Dream had never seen before. Judging by the obvious confusion on Sapnap and Purpled’s faces, they hadn’t either.

Karl just looked like he might be sick. 

“Can you read it?” Purpled asked, leaning over his shoulder. In the weeks they had been travelling, the kid had been absorbed seamlessly into their group. 

There was a brief silence as George worked, before he spoke. “It says… something I can’t read, and then the word ‘tomb’, I think.” He squinted, pulling his hand back from the stone and raising an eyebrow when there was no dust. “Tomb of the Undying, I think.”

“That’s an oxymoron, don’t you think?” Bad said, considering the new information. 

Sapnap shrugged. “Well, I think the logical next step is to open it.”

“What?” Dream wheezed loudly, tension from before broken. “We find a blocked off cave with the inscription ‘tomb of the undying’ and you want to open it?”

He hesitated for a moment. “...Yes.”

George grinned, sitting back on his heels. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

He exchanged a private look with Dream. In the past weeks they had been practicing every moment they got, and Dream had regain partial control of the scraps of life that remained in him. 

And George had shown him the namesake marks that stretched across his back.

“The undying could get out, that’s the worst that could happen!” Dream protested, mostly joking. 

“We can take him!” Sapnap argued right back. 

“Can we?”

He didn’t let up. “We’ve got this, come on.” 

Dream considered the thought for a moment, before sighing. “Sure, why not.”

Sapnap pumped his fist in the air. 

“Let’s throw our weight against it, all at once.” George suggested. 

They did just that, lining up and pushing. 

It opened at their first touch, as if had been waiting for them. For a moment, the carvings seemed to glow, but it was so brief Dream couldn’t be sure.

They all stumbled, tripping over themselves at the lack of expected resistance. 

The room within was even more perplexing.

There was a grinding sound, stone on stone, as a coffin rose from the ground slowly on the left half of the room.

It was shaped like a human, with features that were all slightly… off… carved into it. There was no inscription. To the right, a podium stood, with a book that looked all too old placed artfully upon it. 

Karl looked closer to green. 

Badboyhalo stepped up to the podium, thumbing through the book. “Guys?” He asked weakly. “I’m pretty sure this is Puffy.”

Sapnap stopped inspecting the door they had just abandoned to move closer. “Why’d you say that?”

“The- The book. It says that this is “The resting place of The Ram, a nephilim warrior of old reincarnated.’” He read off.

“No one ever called her that when she was alive.” Dream said shortly, and Bad waved his hands helplessly, gesturing to the book.

“I’m just reading what it says. Her insignia was the ram, though. And she’s a nephilim.” He offered. 

Sapnap rubbed at his eyes, trying to take in the onslaught of information. “Karl, are you good?”

“I don’t feel so well.” He said, and promptly turned and vomited. 

“Hold on, can I see the book?” Dream asked. Something tickled at the edge of his mind, like an obvious fact he couldn’t quite remember. 

“Go for it.”

Bad handed over the book, the brittle pages crinkling. 

The page shifted under the touch of Dream’s fingertips, the dryness all too evident. He breathed in the scent of oak and steel, of the pen that was used to write the words and the ink itself. 

It smelled like storms, like electric currents and ice. 

It smelled like the Blood God’s family.

Dream’s eyes snapped up. “The Ram, wasn’t that a myth from the dawn of the Antarctic Empire?”

He paged backwards, and was met with a sketched portrait of the man called Wilbur. A few more back, and he was met with a man he had never seen before wearing a green and black mask with his hood up to obscure his entire face. Even further back, a phoenix. 

It was a book of myths and legends that detailed real people. With shaking fingers, he pulled it open to the middle, and flipped forwards hesitantly. 

Sapnap’s face peered out at him, titled, The Firesinger. Dream dropped the book, inhaling sharply. 

It landed sideways on a rough patch of the hewn stone with a clatter, and the sound of grinding stone returned. 

A panel in the dead center of the room dropped out, and slowly, was replaced by a pillar that displayed a cubic sample of a rock that was black and white spotted. 

It called to him. Child, you are on the right path. 

Dream was drawn to it, even as the rest of his companions rushed towards the book, still open to Sapnap’s face. 

Before he could heed Karl’s shouted, “Wait!” He reached out to touch the stone, hand making contact with the cool, smooth, cut edges of it, and felt his eyes go all-white like they did when he used his power.

There was a flash of images, all flitting past his eyes too quickly to reach out and grab individually, one of a sprawling garden that he was chasing someone who looked suspiciously like George through, a throne rome where a man he had never seen before sat atop the dias, crown clearly stolen as it fell askew on his child size head, a castle so white it was blinding in its color, and then abruptly, a painting. 

Were they memories? Dream couldn’t put his finger on it. 

The painting hung in his mind like a freezeframe, waiting while he scanned it. 

It was a family portrait, he was sure of it, the frame an ostentatious gold color and the size of the painting just massive. It stretched across an entire slightly domed ceiling, a mural of sorts. There biggest portion of the dome was dominated by windows casting heavenly light onto the subjects of the painting. 

Dream studied it intensely. 

The figures were all children, the youngest not more than six and the oldest not more than seventeen, gathered around a throne, sprawled haphazardly around the dias. 

The more he looked, the odder the image became. 

He could pick out a figure that looked too much like Sapnap to be a coincidence balanced precariously on the arm of the throne, and George leaned against the side of it. Badboyhalo carried a kid with bright blue eyes that looked a bit like diamonds on his his back, and next to them, Karl grinned directly at the artist. Purpled’s spitting image looked out from between the legs of the person sitting. On the back of the throne, he recognized the two kids he had seen at the Blood God’s house, and upon further inspection, he could pick most of them out of the crowd. 

There were people he had never met before, too. A man with horns that was doing what could only be described as smirking at the artist, next to a woman with purple hair who’s own grin matched. A bit next to them, a kid with orange hair that stuck up in tufts that almost looked like fox ears sat lazily. Far off to the side, a man wearing a purple half-mask with black hair didn’t smile, but those around him seemed to laugh at the sight. 

Dream jolted back into consciousness, and just as quickly, was tugged downwards again. 

“Well done, child.” The woman from the throne said. “You are the first to find me. Although, not the first to remember me.”

“Why do you call me child?” He asked, head whipping around as he tried to take in his surroundings. 

The room was expansive, hundreds upon hundreds of windows lining the hall. In between each one was an empty suit of armor, each customized with impressive specificity. One off to the side was missing a sword, but the rest looked completed. Each window was stained, telling thousands of stories. 

When he looked up, he recognized the mural from before. 

“I have crafted you. Does that not make me a mother of sorts?” She asked.

Dream regarded her cautiously. “I already have a mother.”

She paused for a moment. “I suppose you do. Would you prefer the term ‘player’ then?” She tilted her head.

“I don’t care.” He thought over her words. “Puffy, why was she in that tomb?”

“Are you sure her body sleeps in that stone coffin?” She asked in return. 

Dream hated the words as they spilled from his mouth. “No. But why did the tip lead us there if she isn’t?”

“She is.”

“Why did the soldiers bury her there?” He pushed, looking for a real answer.

“All things are as I will it.” She said. 

He pursed his lips. “That’s not an answer.”

Her smile curved upwards more, bordering on humorous. “No, it’s not.” She dipped her head slightly, in recognition. “But how else would you find your way to me, if I didn’t guide you?”

Rather than explore that train of thought, Dream moved forwards. “You crafted me?” He repeated her earlier words.

“Indeed. I made you, player, with many blessings.”

“My power?” Dream asked. 

“Among other things.” She smiled, and it was the only part of her features he could pin down. The rest shifted between faces, eternally changing. “I have made you eternal, player.”

“Eternal?”

“You will not age. You have three chances at life, player, and even then, only another one of your kind can strike you down, or an entire army.” She explained patiently. “It is your blessing.”

“You’ve made the players.” He repeated. “Why?”

Another smile, almost unsettlingly gentle in its nature. “There is a great evil coming. It comes on the wings of a night that does not end. My players are eternal, but so is this darkness. It will be the players job to protect my little projects when this sweeping night arrives.”

“The people in that mural, they can’t die.” He said, even though it should have been a question. Dream knew the answer already. He felt feverish. “We will not age.”

“Indeed. This world will go through many changes. Over and over again, it will rise out of the ashes of destruction, and you will be there to see it. You and the rest of the players will usher in the new ages. I have seen it. The blood of the world will be the birthplace of new eras, all of it overseen by my children. Universe after universe, you will be reborn.”

“You’re a god.” He realized. 

She laughed softly, the sound tinkling and high. “I was there for the birth of your gods, player, even the forgotten ones, and I will be there for their deaths.”

Dream felt more than a bit sick. “What are you?”

She gave him an all too knowing smile, tilting her head once again. “I believe it’s time for you to return to the other players.”

He jolted upwards once again. 

“Dream? Dream!” George called, waving a hand in front of his face. 

Dream blinked, eyes returning to normal as he spun to face Karl. 

“You knew something would happen when I touched the stone.” He accused, ignoring the questions from the rest of his friends. 

Purpled looked between them, still a bit unsure of the dynamic. 

Karl backed up instinctively, hands up. “I didn’t-I didn’t mean-”

“You knew something about her, so how much is it?” Dream demanded, taking a large step forwards as to go on the offensive. 

Sapnap pulled at his shoulder. “Wait, are we not going to talk about the book that has all of us already recorded?”

“There is a forgotten deity in that stone, Sap, claiming that we’re her children, and Karl knew about her, so I think we have bigger problems!” Dream shouted, shaking his grip free. 

He let go easily. 

“Let’s all calm down,” Bad suggested diplomatically. “Dream, who’s in the stone?”

“Touch it and find out yourself.” He countered, taking another step towards Karl. 

“Don’t!” Karl said immediately. “Do not do that!”

Dream’s gaze narrowed, even as George stepped between them. “Why not, Karl? Don’t you want them to learn about our history?” 

Karl glanced between Dream and George, before back to the ground. He sniffled. “I’ll- I’ll tell you all about it, just don’t touch the stone again. Please.” He tacked onto the end. 

“Fine, we can all agree to that.” Purpled said, taking a seat. 

More hesitantly, everyone else agreed, forming a haphazard circle. 

Karl took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. “I bet she showed you us as kids, huh?” He asked, dead mirth dancing in his tone.

Dream nodded. “And a mural, with people I recognized and some I didn’t.” His own tone was guarded. 

“We are her children, for what it’s worth. As much as someone like her can have children. She crafted us herself, and raised us. For decades, she taught us our purpose, and then wiped our memories and placed us in this world.”

“To combat the great darkness she sees coming.” Dream added. 

Purpled played with the frayed hem of his shirt. “Is that our purpose, then?”

Karl all but flinched. “Not exactly. We’re sentinels, heralds of destruction, gods of the new age.”

“How do you remember all this but we don’t?” Sapnap intoned, scratching at the back of his neck like he sometimes did when he was nervous. 

That seemed like an easier question for him to answer. “You have fire. Dream has life- or, death now, I guess-” He corrected hurriedly, glancing to the man. “Time moves around me differently. I’m made to be her eyes and ears.”

“Okay, so when’s this great darkness coming?” Badboyhalo asked, smiling weakly. 

Karl shifted uncomfortably. “She is… old. Very old. A millenia to her is nothing.”

Dream stood. “A millenia? We’re going to be here for a millenia?” He all but shouted. 

It hadn’t quite occurred to him when he was talking with her, but everything was catching up to him now. 

People like him weren’t meant to live long. They burned and burned and burned, taking out everything around them. Those with hearts of fire and souls of fury, they were sparks, and when they went out, they went out in a blaze. 

Sapnap and George and Dream and Badboyhalo and Purpled and Karl, the Blood God and his entire family, they were all fighters. 

They were all willing to go down in flames, in a blaze of blood and righteous anger, taking thousands out with them. 

It was nothing short of cruel for her to place them as the sentinels of this world. 

As if they wouldn’t fight one another. 

As if they hadn’t already done so. 

“Celestials, that’s what they called us!” He spat, voice deafening in the room. “As if we’re fallen gods, blessed with abilities hence to unknown!”

“Dream-” Sapnap tried. 

“None of their fucking stories include how we are children!” He shouted. “Children, with the weight of the world on our shoulders. We will never get the opportunity to grow up, and now we’re going to repeat the same mistakes for a millenia!”

“Please, Dream,” It was the soothing tones of George’s voice this time. 

“Do you think they know we’re cursed? The regular people? That this is our folly, that we’re cursed to repeat the same wars that we started, over and over again?” Dream asked, bordering on hysterical. “That we’re never going to escape this?”

Before anyone could answer, he pushed past the circle, past the discarded book and abandoned door, up into the passage they had taken. 

“Wait!” He heard Bad faintly call. 

He didn’t wait. 

The sound of his feet hitting the stone echoed off of the cave walls, reverberating back into his ears over and over again. 

Before he could get out into the fresh air he desperately craved, there was a tugging on his arm. 

Dream spun to see George, pleading with his eyes. 

“Dream.” Was all he said. 

“I can’t, Georgie. I can’t.”

He opened his arms, and Dream hugged him right away. “We’ll do it, together.”

“I don’t want a millenia.” He whispered his confession into George’s shoulder. 

“I’ll always be by your side.”

No tears. He wouldn’t cry anymore, he promised himself. 

“I don’t even want the time I thought I had.” Dream said. 

George nodded, hands fisting in the cloth of Dream’s tunic as if the words didn’t break his heart. “I’m sorry, Dream.”

It was quiet for a long time, just the two of them sitting in the cavern. 

The slow drip of water from a jutted stone edge was the only sound. 

Then, “What are we even going to do with a millenia, besides fight?” Dream asked, tired beyond his years. 

George looked at him, but it felt like he was looking through him. 

“Remember.” He said at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey i know it's the last chapter of this one but perhaps you would like some plot? i’m not sure if i made it clear enough who the was in the bedrock whoops

**Author's Note:**

> i understand the preference for hamilton but newsies was right there. “so the world says no? well the kids do too//we been keepin' score, either they gives us our rights or we gives them a war//behold the brave battalion that stands side by side, too few in number and too proud to hide//there's a fire inside me that won't stop burnin'” i mean come ON


End file.
